Rob Cornell - Ridley Brone 01 - Last Call

by Rob Cornell

  Lincoln noticed what I was looking at and stepped aside to give me a better view. “You like videogames?” he asked.

  “I never played them much.”

  Ms. Granthum piped in. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.”

  “Thank you, Candace,” Lincoln said.

  She gave me a curt nod and marched back the way we had come.

  Lincoln gestured for me to enter the room. I obeyed, and he closed the door behind me.

  “Relieves stress,” he said. “I can space out for hours playing one of these games, not worry about a thing.”

  I thought of Devon. “I have a friend who would be right there with you.”

  Lincoln walked back to the red leather couch set in the center of the room and facing the television. He took a seat without bothering to offer me one.

  The Zeppelin song ended. I could hear the CD changer whirr as it shuffled to a new disc. Some Janis Joplin kicked on next.

  “I’ve been playing videogames for ten hours a day the last couple days.” He picked up a game controller from the glass coffee table in front of the couch, but he didn’t un-pause his game. He stared down at the controller, stroking one edge with a thumb. “Whenever I stop, I worry about Autumn. I can’t stand it.”

  Okay, so the whole videogame conversation had a point.

  “I understand, but I’m in an awkward position—”

  He threw the controller at the television screen. Amazingly, the screen didn’t break, but the controller snapped into a few pieces, and the game sparked to life. Gunfire blasted from the speakers. Computer-generated men in military garb shot toward the screen. The screen flashed red and eventually went black after a death cry echoed through the room.

  GAME OVER scrolled across the dark screen.

  “I don’t give a damn about your position,” Lincoln said calmly, as if discussing a business deal. “If you know where my daughter is, tell me.”

  I held my ground, but felt at a disadvantage talking to the back of his head. “You have to tell me a few things first.”

  He pulled his hair back, lifted it above his head, then let it fall back over his shoulders. “Ask already.”

  “You never answered my first question about Doug and you.”

  He turned on the couch and looked at me over the back.

  “You want to know how we got along? Like any overprotective father gets along with a man who takes his daughter from him.”

  “Does that mean not so good?”

  “It means I put up with him because Autumn believed she loved him. Then you come along and …” He threw a hand up, disgusted.

  I refused to let him put me on the defensive. “Where were you Saturday night?”

  He stood and gaped at me. “Are you joking?”

  “Have to cover all my bases.”

  “What good are you doing my daughter by interrogating me?”

  “First off, I’m not sure I care anymore if I’m doing your daughter any good. Second, why don’t you just answer instead of giving me a hard time. The quicker you answer, the quicker you get to see Autumn.”

  “You’ll bring her home?”

  “I’ll take you to her. You can bring her back yourself if you want.”

  He crossed his arms, nodded. “Fine. I was here at home that night. Ms. Granthum will gladly verify that for me.”

  I wasn’t sure how much I trusted anyone on Lincoln’s payroll, but I didn’t think I would have to follow up. While part of me believed Lincoln had it in him to murder his son-in-law in the name of protecting Autumn, setting her up as a murder suspect wasn’t the ideal way to save her from a marriage he didn’t approve of.

  I just liked grilling him.

  I rounded the couch, turned off the TV, and gestured for Lincoln to sit. He kept his gaze locked on me while he slowly lowered himself onto the couch.

  I stepped in closer and stayed on my feet, forcing him to crane his neck and look up at me.

  “I need to know about Autumn’s dealings a couple years or so after graduation.”

  He tried to shift in his seat so he wouldn’t have to strain so much to see my face, but I placed myself too close for him to get comfortable.

  “Why? What does that matter?”

  “I learned some things today I want to verify. Things I didn’t like hearing.”

  “About Autumn?”

  I folded my arms and waited.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Do you remember her hanging with a girl named Dixie?”

  His eyes narrowed. “The Middle-Eastern girl? Very pretty. She loved my Corvette.”

  Not the kind of answer I expected. “Did she come over here often?”

  “Autumn said the girl didn’t have much of a home life.” He smiled. “She knows I have a soft spot for unfortunate people.”

  “You do?” The question slipped out before I could clamp it down.

  Lincoln sat up straight, puffing out his chest.

  “I’ll have you know I do a great deal of charity work and have been an activist since the early sixties. In fact,” he pointed at me, “I did some anti-war protests with your parents during Vietnam.”

  My mind went blank a second.

  “My parents?”

  He caught me off guard and managed to stand. He had about an inch on me, but it wasn’t his height that gave him the advantage. The man knew things about my parents I didn’t, and he realized it, saw the opportunity, and struck to take control of the conversation.

  “Trina and Allen were very active in the mid sixties. They used their talents to raise funds for progressive groups across the country. You were just a baby, but they took you everywhere.”

  I dug through my memories, but couldn’t find anything that fit what he described. Why hadn’t they ever mentioned this? Why hadn’t Sheila? For a second I thought he might be lying. He spoke with such confidence, though. And the way he gazed off when he spoke, as if re-seeing those old times—he was telling the truth.

  “I’d love to tell you more, Ridley,” he said, clapping my shoulder. “But not while my daughter is out there alone.”

  “I need to know more about Dixie,” I said. “Did Autumn get into some trouble with her?”

  His hand went to his necklace and tugged at it. “Why do you need to know any of this? I’m tired of the questions. Take me to Autumn.”

  “What happened? You know something.”

  He turned away.

  I was so wrapped up in my questions, I hadn’t noticed the music change. Janis Joplin had been replaced by David Bowie.

  Lincoln went to the stereo and turned it off, the sudden silence almost as hard on the ears as the loud music.

  “You obviously already know something.”

  “I talked to Dixie.” I didn’t bother explaining the sex change. “She told me something about her and Autumn getting into some trouble. I wasn’t sure how much of her story I should believe.”

  “I only know what Autumn told me,” he said. “If she hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have ever found out.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “Autumn and I went through a bad patch. We fought, shouted. I was scared, because we’d always been so close. I knew Dixie wasn’t the best person for Autumn to spend time with, but I understood where Dixie came from. You couldn’t tell from my current surroundings, but I grew up dirt poor.”

  He began to pace.

  “I scrapped. My mother was a hooker. My dad hated my guts. But I got out of that. I met with a family that took me in as their own. They had money. And they showed me how to make it.”

  I couldn’t keep my curiosity at bay. “How did you make it?”

  He shrugged, toying with the dials on his stereo.

  “All sorts of ways. Investments. Smooth talking. Mostly, just hard work. Hard work is underrated these days. It’s a cycle now. Lazy mother’s don’t teach their daughters how to work. They teach them how to be whores.”

  I blinked a few times, not
sure where this conversation had veered. I tried to get it back on track. “You were talking about Dixie.”

  “She was a beautiful young girl.” He sighed. “But she led my daughter down the wrong path. When it all came to a head, Autumn told me everything, we reconciled, and things went back to normal.”

  “How did it come to a head?”

  He turned from his stereo and looked at me.

  “I’m sure Dixie told you the truth. She told you about the guns, the family, how Autumn couldn’t go through with the robbery and left. I imagine she was quite angry with her. And that’s why you think she may have killed Doug, because Autumn was responsible for her going to prison.”

  So it was all true. Autumn had lied straight to my face. I massaged my temples, feeling a headache coming on, as if my aching jaw and my throbbing bruises weren’t enough.

  “Is that all?” Lincoln asked.

  “It’s enough.”

  He approached me, gripped my bicep. “Then take me to my daughter.”

  I nodded. I would take him to her all right. Then he could take her the hell out of my life.

  Chapter 17

  We took separate cars, so for the second time in a week I had a black Lexus on my tail. I took the long way, making sure I didn’t have a third, uninvited, tail. I spent most of the drive listening to Ani DiFranco on the stereo with the windows down, the wind blowing in my face. The adrenaline that had pushed me this far finally tanked out. The lines on the road blurred together in my vision. I kept blinking to keep my focus. Even with the windows down, I cranked up the air conditioning to keep me alert.

  When we finally arrived at the cabin, I shut down along with my engine, dozing the second I had the key out of the ignition.

  “Brone!”

  I jerked awake.

  Lincoln stood by my car, waiting. My joints felt rusted. It took me a second to force my limbs to move and get me out of the car. Once I stood, I staggered, and Lincoln grabbed my arm to support me.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Images of the High Note burning flashed before my eyes.

  “Long day,” I said. I gestured him toward the cabin.

  Autumn must have heard us pull up. She stood on the porch, the one good light illuminating half her face. She squinted out at us as if trying to see through the dark.

  “Daddy?”

  “It’s me.”

  He strode toward her. She leapt off the porch and ran into his arms. They embraced, Lincoln pulling her off her feet, Autumn kicking her heels back while he spun her around.

  I watched them, feeling like an outsider when until now I had been the insider, the only one who knew where Autumn was, her protector. I crossed my arms and leaned back against the car. Sleep took a swipe at me the second I relaxed, and I had to brace myself before I fell over.

  They whispered at each other. Autumn giggled. Lincoln laughed. They hugged again and finally turned to me.

  Autumn came over, her arms out like she meant to hug me. I brushed her off and stumbled toward the cabin.

  “I need to sit. We need to talk.”

  Inside, I flopped into the recliner, gave myself a minute to relax, then scooted to the edge of the seat before I fell asleep.

  Lincoln and Autumn came in, their arms around each other, and took the sofa in front of the picture window. In the lighted room Autumn must have noticed something, the extra cuts on my face, the weariness in my eyes.

  “What happened?”

  My voice came out hoarse. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  Before we left his estate, Lincoln had changed clothes. He wore a pair of khaki slacks, a silk shirt with the top three buttons undone, and had put his hair into a ponytail again. He leaned forward, resting an elbow on one knee.

  “You can start by telling me why the hell you’ve kept my daughter captive in this dump?”

  Autumn rubbed his back. “Daddy, I’m not his captive.”

  Lincoln made a show of looking around the cabin, even tilting his head back to gaze at the ceiling. “This is unacceptable.”

  I rolled my neck to work out a knot forming close to the shoulder. “Are you through?”

  Lincoln cocked his head, said nothing.

  “I brought Autumn here because I trusted her,” I said. “But that trust… I was duped.”

  Autumn straightened. “I didn’t dupe—”

  “Quiet. Let me finish.”

  Lincoln piped in, “Don’t talk to my daughter that way.”

  I pretended Lincoln wasn’t sitting there and spoke directly to Autumn.

  “Dixie told me the truth about your home invasion stunt. I don’t know why you felt you had to lie to me about that. You were with her. You ran out. You ran to Tom.”

  Lincoln waved a hand as if ordering away a servant. “This is all old news. What difference does it make?”

  “Trust,” I said, answering Lincoln’s question but still addressing Autumn. “That’s what difference it makes. I put myself on the line because I believed you didn’t kill your husband. I put myself on the line but you kept lying to me, leaving out this detail or that.”

  “Please,” Autumn said. “I don’t want to talk about this now.”

  “Why not? Your father already knows. You told him all about it and he confirmed it for me.”

  Autumn shook her head slightly, as if trying to signal me without her father noticing.

  Something clicked.

  “Unless he doesn’t know all of it.”

  “Stop.”

  Now Lincoln straightened. “What’s he talking about?”

  “Nothing,” Autumn said.

  “He doesn’t know why Tom was so nice to pull you out of trouble.”

  “She gave up Dixie,” Lincoln said. “That’s why.”

  “It’s the missing piece,” I said. “The real reason why Tom had it in for you. You played him.”

  “I didn’t play him,” Autumn shouted. “I liked him. I really did. But he wasn’t… he wasn’t what I wanted.”

  “You slept with that cop?” Lincoln asked.

  Autumn rolled her eyes like she was a teenager getting reamed for staying out too late. “Yes, Daddy. I slept with Tom. I didn’t tell you because I know how you get about boys.”

  Boys? Like this was seventh grade or something. But I hadn’t brought Lincoln here so he could ground his adult daughter.

  “You two can argue about this later. Autumn, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I knew you two were friends. I felt bad, like I had betrayed you by being with him.”

  “That was over ten years ago.” I stood, fresh adrenaline pumping through me now, the fatigue rolling away. “You really thought I’d care?”

  “I was ashamed. I know what it looked like. I know he felt used, no matter how much I tried to explain to him the truth. And you jumped to the same conclusion. So Tom hates me because he thinks I used him? Does it matter the reason?”

  “Did it even occur to you that Tom might have set up the whole thing to get back at you?”

  Autumn slowly eased against the couch back. Her gaze drifted to one side, and her lips parted slightly, realization coming to her.

  “He couldn’t have.”

  “Why not? If it wasn’t you, it had to be someone. I thought it might be Dixie until she told me about Tom and you.”

  Lincoln looked away. This was all too much for him to accept, listening to his daughter talk about a man she had slept with.

  Pacing the floor, I said, “If you had told me about this up front, I wouldn’t have gone to Dixie, I would have gone straight to Tom.”

  “Fine. I’m sorry I wasted your time. Go to him now.”

  “That’s the thing, I can’t go to him now.”

  I raked a hand through my hair. I felt like someone had installed a blender in my gut.

  “I went to Dixie …” I debated whether to bother going into her sex switch and decided it wasn’t important. “She wasn’t willing to talk at all. She reall
y doesn’t like you. Between her and Tom, I’m surprised it isn’t you with the bullet in the back.”

  I realized how harsh that sounded, but it felt good to say. I was too pissed to care about hurt feelings.

  Autumn looked down and balled her hands into fists on her lap. Her father opened his mouth as if to speak, but I talked over him.

  “I had to push her hard to get her to talk, maybe too hard. But I learned what I learned and I set up a meet with Tom to ask him about it.”

  Lincoln tossed another dismissive hand in the air. “You’ve spoken with him already. Then why the melodrama?”

  “I’m sorry if I haven’t already told you to shut up.”

  Lincoln jerked his head back, crossed his arms.

  “I haven’t talked to Tom,” I said and looked right at Autumn, “because Tom is dead.”

  Autumn stuttered a moment, shaking her head. She peeled a hangnail from her thumb with the fingers of her opposite hand. A tiny red bead welled at the edge of her thumbnail.

  “How? Why?”

  I recounted the ordeal from the moment I left Dixie/Sam at the diner to the explosion at the High Note.

  “I’m pretty sure the explosion was meant for me,” I said. “Dixie might have called someone from work, had it set up.”

  “Couldn’t it have been an accident?” Lincoln asked just I had when talking with Palmer.

  “That thing was set to blow when the door opened. It was no accident.”

  My story told, I sat back on the recliner. A pressure seemed to release itself from inside of me. The knot in my neck loosened. But the fatigue did not return. Instead I felt like I’d downed a vat of espresso.

  I watched the two of them on the sofa. Autumn stared at the floor. Lincoln put his arm around her and rocked her gently.

  “So it’s settled,” Lincoln said. “If Tom killed Douglass, and Tom is now dead, Autumn is in the clear.”

  “Not even close. See, this guy Palmer was working with Tom and he still suspects Autumn.”

  “You can explain things to him like you did here. He won’t arrest Autumn when he knows all the facts.”

  I raised my hands to rub my face and noticed them trembling. As wired as I felt, I knew I needed some sleep. The stress of the day would break me before too long.